


dip you in honey

by neonpython



Series: bath bombs & whiskey [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Flirting, Chaos, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heartbreak, Heartbreaking, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Wilbur Soot, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kissing in the Rain, Nihachu is an angel, Niki | Nihachu-centric, No Smut, Romance, Roommates, Sex, Suicide Attempt, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot is Not Okay, Wilbur sleeps around, based on a wombats song, pink lemonade - Freeform, wilbur is a slut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28234332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonpython/pseuds/neonpython
Summary: CW: sexual content, heartbreak, attempted suicideAs Wilbur drowns, Niki tries her best to hold him afloat.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Niki | Nihachu & Wilbur Soot, Niki | Nihachu/Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Other(s), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: bath bombs & whiskey [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068248
Comments: 9
Kudos: 214





	dip you in honey

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t seen a lot of roommate wilbur/niki stuff so I said screw it and wrote some myself. While I don’t ship them, this is written as a ship fic. Their friendship is so pure and I love it!  
> Also I wanna see more Niki-centric fics outside of l’manberg. please give my baby more love.

_ Wilbur is an asshole. _ Niki knows it, all their friends know it, and the string of girls he’s slept with and then promptly ghosted know it. That being said, his actions are completely justified. At least, that’s what he claims. 

Ever since She-Whose-Name-He-Refuses-To-Say left him for that scumbag Jared back in London, Wilbur hasn’t acted the same. His mood flips like a hyperactive child on a swing. One moment he’s laughing at all of her jokes, the next he’s screaming into the couch cushions. He cries at least twice a day, he hasn’t done his own laundry in the month post-breakup, and she thinks he’s started drinking again. 

Niki’s never dated anyone, so she doesn’t know what it’s like to have her heart broken. The closest she’s gotten is when she had to leave her old apartment and move in with her now unstable best friend in a different country. However, she’s sure  _ this _ isn’t normal.

The hot July sun sits in the sky at an angle, warming Niki from her spot on the couch. She chomps down on her breakfast quesadilla. Her computer burns a hole in her stomach as she replies to her friend’s newest tweets. 

From the hallway behind her, Wilbur’s bedroom door slams open. Her few early morning hours of peace gone, Niki glances over her shoulder. Surprise, surprise, he’s shirtless, stumbling into the kitchen wearing boxers and his glasses. 

“What’s this one’s name?” She asks, continuing on her twitter scroll.

“I dunno, Jessica?” His words slur into one. He bumps into the fridge, pulling the door and grabbing the jug of pink lemonade. “Fuck, we need to go shopping.”

Niki sits up, setting her laptop on the couch. She walks into the kitchen to make sure Wilbur doesn’t hurt himself cooking breakfast again.

His eyes flicker to her, rimmed red and puffy. Long, pink scratches run parallel down to his spine, ending just above his ass. Brunette curls stick up with dried sweat. When he tilts his head back to drink from the plastic jug, Niki sees the freshest batch of hickeys, a constellation of purple bruises running down his neck to his collarbones.

“Rough this time?” Niki snatches the frying pan from his hands.

Wilbur groans and sinks to the tile floor, finishing the lemonade. “She wanted me to choke her.”

“Did you?”

“Don’t remember.”

He watches her with wild, childish eyes as Niki prepares him scrambled eggs, knowing he’s in no condition to do it himself without risking burning their apartment down. She doesn’t mind doing this for him. Heartbreak is an unknown pain to her, and a common once for Wilbur.

Niki plops the plate filled with food on the breakfast table. Wilbur scrambles to the table, chowing down without even a thank you. She doesn’t care.

While coffee brews, the floorboards creak. A woman, wearing silk blue panties and Wilbur’s yellow sweater, plods into the kitchen. She looks surprised to see Niki, who merely gives her a kind smile.

“Don’t worry, Jessica, he’s just my roommate,” she says.

The relief is evident in Jessica’s face. Niki has to admit, she’s a looker. Peachy skin marked with freckles evidence of sex, eyes peridot green, and pink hair that turns blonde at the roots. Her lips are perfect, thighs thick and marked with hickeys. If Niki didn’t already have someone in her crosshairs, she’d jump on her Jessica’s bones.

“Will, I can’t find my bra.” She speaks shyly, hands rubbing at her bruised wrists.

Wilbur grunts in response. “Under the bed.”

This is routine. He brings a girl home, fucks them until sunrise, and tosses them aside. Niki hates it, but she understands why he does it. All Wilbur wants is for others to feel his pain. Despite the fact that it’s been almost a year since the break up and his masochist methods haven’t been working, he continues on. 

He’s a runaway train, bound to stop only when he crashes. Niki knows the collision will be soon.

By the time coffee is poured, Jessica has all of her respective clothing on. She stands awkwardly at the door, like she’s unsure if the night prior was a one night stand or not.

Niki wishes he didn’t have to choose the naive ones. “Did he drink?”

Jessica looks up at Niki. “I’m sorry?”

“Did he drink?” She repeats the question with holy patience.

“Uh, yeah. Well, I wouldn’t call it drinking. I haven’t seen anyone drink that much since I left my bloody sorority.”

The chuckle in her throat dies when Niki’s head spins to Wilbur.

“You said you were sober,” she accuses.

Wilbur flaps his hand in her direction, eyes squinted shut. “Get outta my face, Niki.”

“I’m ten feet away.”

“Shhhhh. Silence.”

Niki rolls her eyes and hands Jessica one of the coffee mugs. “Every girl likes their coffee differently, so I’ll let you take care of that. Got time for a chat?”

On the balcony, the sun shines down with apathy. Jessica takes a seat in their wicker couch, looking confused, and gently sips at her coffee. Niki relaxes into her rocking chair, propping her feet against the low railing.

Atop the balcony’s ceiling is a nest. A European goldfinch, black and white faced birds with red and yellow markings. Their songs are beautiful. Wilbur is the one who taught her that. 

When Jessica speaks, her voice drips with realization. “This happens all the time, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t beat yourself up, love. Wilbur’s an asshole,” Niki responds. “But he’s going through stuff. The only way he gets through it is either pills, alcohol, or sex.”

“So, a college student.”

“I suppose, though he’s 23 and still in child mode.”

They exchange half hearted laughs.

“So… what happened to him?” Jessica asks.

“What hasn’t happened is the real question. Long story short, his girlfriend cheated and left him.”

“Oh.”

Niki pops her lips. “Yeah. Lucky for him, I’m here to make sure he doesn’t crash and burn.”

“You care about him a lot. Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Niki.”

Jessica shakes “Jessie.”

The two sit in awkward silence as Wilbur, back inside their apartment, sobs loud enough to cause the goldfinch to fly from its nest.

\--

Niki has a list of reasons to love Wilbur.

She started it when he brought the first of his many flings home. It keeps her sane during his breakdowns, reminds her why she moved in with him in the first place. They’re best friends.

The list isn’t too long, though that might be because she hasn’t added to it in months.

  * Wilbur makes the best cups of coffee
  * Stupid prank wars
  * He smells like lemon and spice
  * Wilbur can’t cook
  * He sings her to sleep
  * His hugs feel safe
  * He’s been sober for years



That same night, after Jessica leaves, her number joining the pile Wilbur collects on the fridge, Niki pulls the list out. She reads it once, twice, a few more times, and reluctantly scratches out the last line. Wilbur lies in a tight ball on the couch. His gaze focuses on nothing, though his lips twitch with unspoken words.

Niki plops down beside him and runs her hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp. Tears stain the gray couch cushion black. Sunlight illuminates his dark, vacant eyes, lips bitten raw and cheeks sunken, still naked and shivering despite the nocturnal heat.

She wishes she could help him more than just being a comforting presence. There’s a dozen things Niki wants to do, to see if it’ll help ease the pain or at least give him a distraction long enough for him to take a step back and reevaluate his actions.

Scenarios runs through her mind.

Send him to therapy? That has to be his choice, not hers.

Stage an intervention? He’ll only dig his own deeper.

Let him crash and burn? She won’t. 

Confess to him? In her dreams.

Niki sighs and scooches so they’re lying parallel, foreheads pressed together.

“One of these days, you’ll let me in,” she whispers, closing her eyes. “And then maybe we can move on. Together.”

\--

Wilbur hasn’t had another one night stand for a week now. Niki would say she’s proud, but he’s hardly left his room in that time, only leaving when she coaxes him out with meals. She treats him like a scared animal, earning his trust with the promise of food and drinks, only for him to flee back to his hiding spot the moment her back is turned.

He plays his guitar most of the time he locks himself away. The soft, minor key notes filter through their small apartment, filling her senses with sadness and pity.

Niki knows what songs those are. He hasn’t played them for years, he told her when they moved in together, as they were written in a desperate attempt to atone for his crimes. That entire album is pain, plucked from his soul and placed on his guitar strings. The fact that she can clearly hear Jubilee Line’s main chords scares her.

After a week, he emerges. Wilbur’s skin is almost devoid of evidence, except for a small scratch on the inside of his wrist. She doesn’t remember seeing it before, but he’s always ending up with small, accidental injuries. Clumsy.

His guitar doesn’t leave his hand as he sits on the arm chair to the right of their couch. Niki watches him tuck his legs under himself and stair at his hand, splayed across the smooth dark wood of his instrument. He has a neon green pick tucked into his ear.

“How’re you feeling?” She asks, knowing she’ll get no response.

Wilbur’s trembling hands slide up to the frets, and he plays. It takes Niki a few seconds to recognize this song.

_ Your Sister Was Right.  _

She wishes she could kiss him, leave him so breathless he forgets his misery. But she doesn’t, because he doesn’t need nor deserve the confusion.

He begins to sing. “I thought I couldn’t love anymore.”

“Turns out I can’t, but not for the same reasons as before.”

Niki joins in, earning a surprise eye twitch from Wilbur. 

His voice sounds raw and broken, like he hasn’t used it all week. Dark raccoon marks cover the bottoms of his eyes. She can’t help but watch his fingers dance along the neck of the guitar. He looks ethereal in her eyes.

They sing together. Wilbur confesses his pain, his sorrow, his guilt, in his light, airy voice, while Niki comforts him in her higher harmony. Tears ding against the guitar’s body.

It’s the closest they’ve gotten to a real conversation in weeks. He hardly speaks, and when he does, it’s never over ten words per response. She feels like he’s finally opening up, little by little, through the way he knows best- music.

The song ends. Niki rubs her stinging eyes. When she removes her fist, Wilbur’s gone, the only evidence he was even there being the guitar pick that had fallen to the floor.

She picks it up, and sighs.

Progress, not perfection.

\--

In her latest stream, Niki pretends that everything’s okay. She has no reason to act like something’s wrong when it’s not her place to discuss their personal life. Wilbur’s honest to his audience about when he’s having a bad day, but even he, as an oversharer, puts up walls between his true self and who he shows the world. 

The donos send her worried messages, asking why he hasn’t streamed in over a month, or why he hasn’t had a social media presence at all. She reassures her worried fans who ask about Wilbur, telling them he’s not feeling well. Not a complete lie, but not enough to warrant further speculation. 

“No, he doesn’t have COVID,” she chides. “But I’ll ask him to play later if he’s up for it!”

Outside, the weather dies down to a cool autumn, with September right around the corner. Niki plans on forcing Wilbur out for a walk after she ends her stream, knowing they’ll do good with some sunlight. The fresh air might put some hope in him, the hope she can’t put there herself. 

She talks to her fans. Fear slips her mind little by little. Streaming always aids her in relaxing and forcing herself not to focus just on the negative thoughts. From what she knows about Wilbur, it helps him too. Maybe Niki will be able to convince him to join her later on.

Through the creepy nether music in her ears, she hears a crash. She pushes her headphones down to her neck, looking to her closed bedroom door, and calls out for Wilbur. Wilbur doesn’t respond, which isn’t shocking. Ten seconds pass without any more noise, so Niki laughs it off, returning to her screen.

Despite telling herself it’s nothing, she leaves her headphones off, just in case. She makes it back to the overworld. Niki leans back in her chair, sighing in an attempt to relax herself again. When she picks up another sound, it’s a frustrated cry. Her anxiety spikes.

“Wilbur?”

Yet again, no response. 

“Sorry, chat, I’ll be right back!” Niki throws her headphones to the desk, shutting her face cam off. Her chat floods with concern as she mutes her mic and runs out of her room.

Wilbur stands in the middle of the kitchen, half clenched fingers dripping blood to the floor down onto a shattered mug. He just looks at his hand, slowly closing it into a tight fist. She rushes to him, grabbing a towel off the oven, and steps in front of him.

After a bit of persuasion, Niki gets him to open his hand. Shards of red stained ceramic stick out of his palm. She holds the towel under his arm to stop the blood from dripping and begins picking the splinters from his skin, trying her best not to cry.

“What happened?” She keeps her voice steady.

Wilbur doesn’t answer. He watches her with a silent, empty stare, not flinching when she has to tug a piece of the broken mug out from between his forefinger and thumb. 

Niki tosses the shards into the trashcan and goes to the bathroom for their first aid kit, bringing it back along with a pair of tweezers. She uses an alcohol pad to remove any blood in search of any more pieces embedded in his hand. Once she’s satisfied, she glances up at Wilbur, positioning herself to begin cleaning the wound.

“This is gonna sting,” she warns.

He finally meets her eyes. Tear tracks glimmer in the late afternoon light. She doesn’t know if it’s from the physical pain or something else. 

She swipes the pad once over his palm. When he doesn’t wince, she does it again, pressing harder this time to soak up the blood. As she counts the dozens of small cuts littering his skin, Wilbur sucks in a sharp breath, instinctively closing his hand for a moment.

“Hey, it's okay.” Niki gently pries his fingers back open, sending him a reassuring smile. “Can you talk to me, Will?”

“Hurts,” he mutters.

Good enough for her.

Niki guides him by the hand to the sink. She flicks the top of the rubbing alcohol bottle and looks at him again before tipping the contents over his hand. Wilbur kicks the cabinet.

“Fuck!” He grunts.

“Sorry,” she says, though she’s glad she got some type of reaction from him. “I’m going to use cotton swabs, okay?”

“… Okay.”

His hand limply rests in her grip now. He breathes softly. She finally gets him free of blood and begins ripping open bandages to cover his cuts with.

It takes thirteen band aids. Niki finishes her handiwork and kisses his palm, feeling his forearm tense up.

“Will you tell me what happened now?” She asks, gentle this time.

“I just…” he makes a crushing gesture with his good hand. “Dunno why.”

“Oh. If you ever feel like doing something like that again, just tell me.”

Niki looks down his arm and sees a similar cut further down his wrist. It’s not just one. It’s  _ three _ . Three straight cuts already healing. 

“Oh, I didn’t see those-”

Wilbur yanks his arm away, tucking it into his body. “I’ll clean.”

“Y-you’re welcome.”

His eyes turn to the floor. “Go back to your stream.”

That’s the longest sentence he’s said to her in weeks. 

“Will-”

And just like that, he shuts her out again.

Sighing, Niki returns to her room, turning her facecam and mic back on. “Sorry guys, Wilbur had an accident! Silly boy dropped a mug, I helped him. Nothing to worry about!”

She continues the stream for another hour before she runs out of smiles. When she ends it, Niki’s facade drops.

Night falls quickly. When she leaves her room, she finds Wilbur asleep on the couch with an empty bottle of vodka tucked into his body, still clutching the neck. He must’ve been too drunk to hide the painkillers. She finds them under the rug. 

Niki takes the tiny orange bottle and hides it in the bottom of a cereal box.

\--

As days, weeks, a month passes, Wilbur comes up with a variety of more injuries. Bruises knuckles, scratches on his biceps. He picks at the scabs on his hand, and every time Niki catches him, she scolds him, telling him he can’t play guitar until he’s fully healed.

Wilbur does it anyways. She hears him playing Saline Solution at three am, and sits outside of his door the entire night until she falls asleep listening to his voice. Somehow, she wakes back up in her own bed, tucked and warm. 

Sometimes, when he plays early into the morning, Niki will sing with him, like they used to on streams. He takes the lower parts, her the higher. They keep up this silent ritual for a week before he moves on from Saline Solution. 

When he plays Losing Face, she can’t join him, unable to bear those words he forces out. Wilbur, probably assuming she’s not there this time, sings louder, his voice wrecked. He gets to the bridge when he completely breaks down, his sobbing reverberating through the door. Niki listens, and silently weeps alongside him. 

\--

Niki’s asleep in her own bed for once when she hears it. A heavy thunk stirs her, followed by a crash. She jumps out of bed, still sleepy, and stumbles out of her own room, slamming into Wilbur’s. His bed is empty, as is the couch.

The light is on in the bathroom.

The sight she finds at the source of the noise sends her to her knees. Wilbur lies unconscious in their bathtub, collapsed curtain rod in his lap. Trickles of water runs down his naked body, the shower still draining. A belt attaches the rod to his neck, the buckle digging into the pale flesh above his Adam’s apple. Hints of maroon pool in his cheeks. 

Niki does the only thing she can think of in the moment. She  _ screams _ .

Rushing to him with a speed unknown to her, she frantically fiddles with the leather noose. The more she pulls, the tighter it gets, and the darker his face becomes. Niki’s vision turns washy with tears as she finally feels the leather under her fingers give. Wilbur gasps for air, his blood rushing down.

She pushes the curtain and rod off of him and leaps into his arms. “What the hell, Wilbur?”

His skin is wet, cold, like a drowned corpse.

Alive. Not dead. He’s cold, but he’s alive.

Hesitant arms wrap around her. Niki tilts her head as Wilbur buries his face in her neck. His trembling begins soft at first before they turn into violent seizes. The vibrations of his sobs send goosebumps up her arms from where his unhinged mouth presses into her bare shoulder, tears soaking into her sweater.

Niki runs her hand along his spine in a feeble attempt to warm him. She tries to fathom why,  _ why _ would he even think about-

“Niki, I’m so sorry,” Wilbur whimpers into her skin.

“You’re an idiot.” Her voice sounds too high. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“It’s just too much. Nothing’s working anymore, it never goes away.”

“What doesn’t?”

“The pain. The ache. The  _ nothingness _ . It’s always there, clawing at the edges of me, shredding my insides. I can’t breathe or sleep or eat or do anything without being reminded of her and all of my bloody past mistakes.”

His words dissolve into aching groans.

She gently guides him out of the tub, sitting with him on the bathroom floor. “Will, you can talk to me about anything. If you’re feeling this way-”

“I’m not ruining the last thing I love in this world because I’m feeling like a shitbag,” he replies bluntly.

Her heart stutters. “I can’t be the last thing.”

“Why not?” I’ve lost everything else.” Wilbur sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His eyes stare at his thighs. “You’re the one good thing that I haven’t fucked up yet, I’m sorry, but I love you so much and I don’t want to hurt you.”

The soft gurgle of the drain ceases. Niki grabs his chin and forces him to meet her eyes.

“Well, you’ll have to try a lot harder than that to make me hate you. I’m here to stay.”

“Niki-”

Before she runs out of confidence, she presses her lips to his. Wilbur’s eyes go wide as she pulls back. When recognition settles, he grabs her biceps and kisses her deeper than before, hearts soaring in synchronicity.

Niki smiles when they separate, though the worry doesn’t leave her mind. She holds her pinky out.

“You need to get help,” she says.

Wilbur begins to protest before she holds up the belt.

“You’re hurting deeper than I can manage. And I love you too much to see you continue to drown.”

“Will you… will you help me?”

“Of course. I’ll be there for every step,” she promises.

Wilbur looks like he’s on the brink of another breakdown. He hooks their pinkies together, and they kiss their fingertips with love and hope in their eyes. “Every step.”

They fall asleep in the bathtub as Wilbur turns a light to every dark crevice of his soul. And Niki listens, because she loves him. Her list grows by the minute, and she shows it to him as evidence that she’s here for the long run. Morning comes, and they start looking for therapists in their area.

Morning comes, and he begins to heal.


End file.
